


The 70th Hunger Games

by SapphireShelle91



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-02
Updated: 2012-11-02
Packaged: 2017-11-17 14:19:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/552481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphireShelle91/pseuds/SapphireShelle91
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Annie Cresta is seventeen years old and has no wish to be District's Four next girl tribute. She had two more years before she would have been safe from entering the Games, but the Capital has other ideas for her. The 70th Hunger Games, Ladies and Gentleman. May the odds be ever in your favour!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: Hi everyone. Nice to meet you and thank you for choosing to read this fic. 70th Hunger Games, yes, I know very imaginative title, but the story is far better than the its title lets on, I swear.  
> This fanfic, like the book series, is broken up into three parts, this is obviously Part One, The Tributes. So far I've written all of Part One and Two and am now trying to tackle Part Three.  
> Please enjoy and let me know what you think.

70th Hunger Games

 

Part One

THE TRIBUTES

 

**_Part One’s Summary:_ ** _Annie Cresta is seventeen years old and has no wish to be District’s Four next girl tribute. She had two more years before she would have been safe from entering the Games, but the Capital has other ideas for her._

_Now she is the female tribute of District Four for the 70 th Hunger Games and she can’t think how things can possibly get worse. She thought that her worse problem would be her inability to fight, but she is about to discover that things are far more complicated and dangerous than she ever originally thought._

_She is about to discover just how much control the Capital has over the Districts Victors and how dangerous President Snow really is. Especially since he’s taken a special interest in her. If Annie thought the Hunger Games would be the death of her, she might just discover that her life is in danger before she’s even entered the Arena._

 

Chapter One

 

I wake with a start, though I don’t know what exactly has startled me out of sleep. The sun wasn’t even up yet and only a few sea birds were starting to call to one another, welcoming the coming morning.

I could hear the ocean, her waves gently crashing into the shore of District Four, splashing around the docks and boats anchored in the bay. Nothing out of the ordinary was happening to wake me from my sleep, and it had been such a good sleep too.

I try to move, stretch me limbs only to find that I can’t, that I’m trapped beneath a weight - a comfortable, warm weight mind you - and that I am mere millimetres from falling off the bed.

Instead of panicky from this trapped feeling, I simply wiggled within the arms that have encased me so protectively to his chest, so that I am now facing him.

I frown when I look up into his face. He is grimacing as if he is suffering; pain, grief, guilt. All these feelings he suffers though he tries to hide them from the rest of the world with his fast smile and quick mouth.

I reach up and gently touch his face, with the vain hope that I might be able to simply swipe the grimace and all the pain that comes with it away from him, out of him.

His arms tighten around me in response and I can’t help but wince a little from the strength that he is now using to hold me against him. His dreams must be bad this morning.

I keep running my fingers over his face, gently saying his name over and over again, like a mantra.

“Finnick, it’s ok. It’s just a dream. You’re not really back there. It’s just a dream, Finn.” I watched his face twitch as my voice starts to break threw his dream, nightmare rather, pulling him back, back to the present, back to me.

“Annie?” he whispered as his brilliant sea green eyes start to blink awake.

“Uh huh, I’m here.” I whisper and his arms loosen some from their death grip around me. I know that I’ll probably have a bruise or two from him, but the relief that is now written all over his face makes the pain worthwhile.

He closes his eyes again, burying his face into my neck, pressing warm kisses against my collarbone.

“Finnick.” I giggled once more trying to squirm away from him, “that tickles.”

He lifts himself on to his elbows, looking down at me seriously, before suddenly rolling me completely under him. It’s now that I remember just how completely undressed we both are, with me only in an old, over-sized button up shirt and him with absolutely nothing on at all.

I’m taken aback by how serious he still looks. How much pain and grief, as well as guilt of a survivor and killer who never wished to kill and only did so, so that he could live, is still written all over his face.

“Finnick?” I whisper as I once again press my fingers to his face, running them down his jaw line and against his lips. He kissed each of my fingers as they trailed against his mouth, but the pain and seriousness remained.

Why? Why was he…

Ah.

Reaping Day. Today is Reaping Day.

I feel my stomach plummet a little as I remember this little detail about today.

I kiss him and he kisses me back and after only a few moments our bodies are moving in their familiar rhythm with each other when Finnick’s house phone rang.

“Ignore it.” Finnick growled into my neck.

I tried.

I really did, but the rings were persisted, so with a heavy sigh, I shoved him off me and started to roll out of bed before remembering that this wasn’t in fact my house, so my answering Finnick’s phone would not be the wisest of ideas, especially this early in the morning.

I stood in the middle of his room, trying to straighten the shirt that I was wearing as a nightgown, his shirt, listening to the persisted rings of his phone, while he simply remained in bed, looking gorgeous and all things that really should be made illegal.

“Ignore it.” Finnick said again, beckoning for me to come back to bed.

I hesitated still, looking out the window at the lightening sky as dawn started to approach. I would have to leave soon, so as to not arise questions or suspicion from anyone about my relationship with the famous Finnick Odair.

The whole district knows that we’re friends, best friends in fact, even though some do find it strange that the famous, gorgeous Finnick Odair spends all of his time with a skinny girl, two years his junior with nothing exceptionally special about her except for having a grandmother who was a Victor and has won several medals for swimming at school. But besides from that, I’m particularly unique from any of the other girls in the district, most of whom glare daggers at me for simply being friends with Finnick.

I can only image what they’d do if they knew that I slept with him. Or that he actually loved me with all his heart.

I felt myself blush darkly at the thought, not noticing that he had risen from bed, startling me out of my thoughts when his arms wrapped themselves around my waist and he kissed my neck with open mouth kisses that make my knees go weak.

“Finnick.”

“See, it’s stopped. Now come back to bed.” He whispers. Not in the seductive tone that he uses in the Capital when he’s forced to “entertain” ladies (and men), but the tone that he only uses when he is around me, and only me, and only when he knows that we are completely alone, away from the prying ears of the Capital.

If President Snow ever found out about me, or rather that our relationship was anything more than platonic, I can only dread to think what he would do to Finnick.

He has just swung me into his arms, causing me to squeal softly, just about to dump me on to the bed when…

“FINNICK ODAIR!” I am dumped on to his bed with a lot less grace than I would have been if not for the yelling voice of my grandmother.

I watched in amusement from the bed as Finnick started to panic, before sticking his head out the open window of his room – he always leaves it open, he feels suffocated and trapped if its closed – and called down, to where I suspect my grandmother is standing, right beneath his window.

Oh… I felt my cheeks grow warm.

“Morning Mags.” I heard Finnick call down to her.

“Finnick what is it with you and answering your phone?” my grandmother called back up to him, surprisingly loud for a seventy-five year old woman, though not loudly enough to wake the whole Victor’s Village, thank god!

“It’s not even dawn yet.” He whined back at her, sounding more like a fourteen year old than he’s soon to be twenty years.

“But clearly you are wide awake and up to no good.” Came my grandmother’s sharp reply and I could see his ears and cheeks turn a reddish tone under his naturally bronze skin in the dim light of coming dawn.

“Ah.”

“Get yourselves dressed, I’m coming in.” I winced, knowing that she knew that I was here. Not that it was a hard guess as to where I might be if I’m not at home, but still, it’s embarrassing to know that your grandmother knows exactly what you’ve been up to during the night.

Finnick groaned as he pulled his head back into the room, us both hearing my grandmother open his front door with the key that he had given her a few years back, as a gift when he moved back here when he was sixteen, after he brought his family a large boat to live on.

Finnick isn’t close to his family. Not anymore.

“We should probably go down, unless you want her to come up and find us like this.” I say as I start pulling on my underwear and my pants. The shirt I was wearing was decent enough, so I simply left it on. I would have to change anyway for the Reaping, so I didn’t see the point of getting completely dressed now.

Finnick grumbled something along the lines of “like she hasn’t found me in worse situations.”

“Not with me, she hasn’t.” I replied as I threw some clothes at him.

“Oh, but like she doesn’t know.” He smirks that cocky smirk that I’m sure is the cause for all the girls and women (and men) here and in the Capital and all over Panem to swoon over him.

I return his cocky smile with a very dead-pan expression, causing him to pout ever so slightly.

“Why does that never work?” he asks as he pulls on the clothes that I threw at him.

“What, your charm?” I asked as I started running a brush threw my hair.

“Yup.”

“Maybe it isn’t as impressive as everyone has led you to believe,” his pout deepens, “or maybe,” I added as I walk over to him and stood on my tippy toes to kiss his month gently, “you need at least one person to not fall for them and that person is the person that truly loves you, the good and the bad, they don’t need to be charmed to love you, they just do.”

“Well, when you put it like that…” he said starting to smile, pulling me to his chest and leading down to kiss me properly, but I pull away with a wicked grin before bouncing out of his room.

“You little…” I hear him swear after me, causing me to laugh as I near run down the stairs, down to the kitchen where my grandmother was making herself a cup of tea.

She looked up at me with tired eyes and a gentle smile and I immediately felt my own smile slip, as guilt start to gnaw at my insides.

“Bad night?” I asked, moving to her side, wrapping my arm around her waist as I walked her to one of Finnick’s mismatched kitchen chairs. I don’t know how or when they became so mismatched, each chair being different to the next, but Finnick likes it this way. Actually most of the things in his house don’t match with each other.

“Hmmm, it was and I panicked when I didn’t find you in your room.” Grandma said softly as she gently touched my face with her hand.

“I’m sorry.” I whisper, placing my hand over hers.

She shook her head with a shaky laugh.

“It was silly of me to overreact like I did, but when I couldn’t get through to Finnick via the phone; I guess I lost my mind for a moment there.”

“It’s fine. I know that today isn’t a good day for you, any of you.” I soothed, “we should have all stayed at yours, then you would not have had to have worried about us.” She smiles at me warmly.

“You are such a sweet girl Annie. Such a sweet girl. Finnick is very lucky to have you.”

“That I am.” I jumped while my grandmother simply looked over my head and smiled as Finnick strolled into the kitchen, heading straight for the coffee. The man is addicted to his coffee.

“Morning Mags,” he greeted my grandmother once he had poured himself a cup of the strong smelling brew.

I wrinkled my noise at the smell. He knows that I won’t allow him to kiss me again until he’s brushed his teeth clean of the wicked stuff. He grins when he’s sees my expression.

“Morning to you too, Finnick.” Grandma said with an amused expression as she watched Finnick and I pull faces at one another.

Their eyes meet and I can see the pain and understanding pass between. As close as I am to these two wonderful, fragile, broken creatures, I still don’t understand them, not in the way that they understand each other.

In moments like these, I feel like I’m intruding in on something private, something so intimate and heartbreaking, that I want to cry. Not because I want to be a part of it, oh no, but because in these moments I remember and see just how broken these two people are and it breaks my heart.

So I let them have their moment, their silence to remember the grief, the fear, to remember all the horror that they have been put through. I let them remember it together, while I go about making our breakfast.

There isn’t much to be have, not after the last storm made it near impossible for the boats to go out into the ocean to fish, and even with the preserves that we have, food is still scarce, even for us, here in Victor’s Village. But I ignore that, just like I know every other family in the district will be when they wake, they’ll all be making themselves a decent breakfast this morning, instead of eating simply gruel which fills the belly but is disgusting.

I’ve just finished cooking up some eggs and bread and am just moving on to cook some fish before the two come back to me from their moments of remembering.

“Hey, smells good.” Finnick’s voice is cheerful and is overly delighted in the fact that I’m not serving up gruel for once.

I started grin over my shoulder at him when I felt a sudden wave of nausea hit me in the gut causing me to immediately stop what I’m doing and bolt down the hall for the downstairs bathroom, with Grandma and Finnick calling after me in surprise.

I empty the contents of my gut down the toilet, flushed it, before sliding to the bathroom floor miserably.

“Annie?” Grandma walks into the bathroom, coming to crouch down beside me, her hand gently placing itself against my forehead.

“I don’t know.” I say simply, wiping a hand against my mouth. “I just felt sick all of a sudden.”

I notice a strange, almost unreadable look cross my grandmother’s face, but before I could ask her about it, Finnick’s head was sticky itself in threw the bathroom doorway, his expression worried, though he did look relieved when he saw I wasn’t being sick.

“I’m ok.” I reassured them both, though they didn’t look convinced. “It was probably just nerves.” I added and this seems to sit with them better, though neither of them look happy.

But then, they’re never happy about Reaping Day, and why should they be? Two children going off to their death.

Yes, as a Career’s district as we as are so charmingly called, but then I can’t really fault the other districts for begrudging us some, we do have a better chance of survival than most other districts, for example District Twelve. Going on seventy years that the Hunger Games have been held and District Twelve has only two Victors to boast.

One who died before I was born and the other, Haymitch, well, in some ways, he might as well be dead, for all the good he has done for his tributes, who usually die in the first couple of days in the arena.

I know that they’re worried about me. I’m seventeen years old; I have this year and next before I am completely safe from becoming a tribute for our district.

“I’m fine now. Really. It was just nerves.” I said as I pulled myself to my feet before helping Finnick do the same with my grandmother. They both looked sceptical, but didn’t push me any further which I was grateful for.

“Breakfast is probably getting cold.” I reminded them and just as I said that, Finnick’s stomach grumbled.

I grinned as his cheeks turned red underneath his bronze skin and he ran a sheepish hand through his messy bronze coloured hair.

We all headed back for the kitchen, my fingers entwined with Finnicks’s as we walked back. I could feel my grandmother’s eyes on my back, but when I looked back at her, she simply smiled warmly back at me, but I could see the worry in her eyes, but as much as I wanted to ask what was wrong, I knew that today was simply a bad day, and at times it was best to simply leave Victors with their own thoughts.

Breakfast was cold, but I heated it all back up again easily and we had a good meal as the sun rose over the District Four, shining a warm welcome for Reaping Day.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to do this with chapter one, but I don't own any of the characters or themes in this fic, they all belong to Suzanne Collins. If I did, Finnick wouldn't be dead and book three would have been quite different.  
> Anyway, please enjoy

Chapter Two

The morning went by too fast. Even waking up early didn’t make the time seem slower for us to go down to the main square of District Four, outside the Justice Building, for the Reaping.  
One moment I was enjoying breakfast with my Grandmother and my boyfriend/best friend and the next I was walking with them back to Grandma’s house and getting ready to go down to the square.  
I swallowed the lump that was building in my throat as I ran my hands over the soft green and blue dress that I had been given to wear by Grandma. It had belonged to my now deceased mother and even though it is years old, it is still one of the most beautiful things that I have ever worn. Simple but completely beautiful.  
I slipped my feet into a pair of soft sandals, before I started fingering my hair, not sure what I should do with it. Most years, I simply threw it up into a high tail at the top of my head, like what I wear every other day of the year, as if to convince myself that today is like any other day of the year, even though, of course it isn’t  
“Hey. You ready?” Finnick’s head was sticking itself into my bedroom from my doorway. He was looking quite dashing, but really, that is not unusual for him, since he almost always looks dashing, no matter what he wears. Or not wearing…  
He whistled as he walked into my room, looking me up and down with an almost unreadable expression on his face, but I felt my cheeks blush when I saw just how dark his eyes now were. But instead of allowing him to see just how deeply he has affected me with simply his presence, I sniff at him, turning my back to him as I picked up my brush and started brushing it through my hair.  
“Haven’t you heard of the concept of knocking?” I asked him briskly, “I could have been changing for all you knew.”  
“More luck for me then, if you had been.” He replied as he took my brush from me, since I had been brushing my hair somewhat fiercely, and started brushing it, gently, himself. He then positioned me in front of my bedroom’s mirror and with clever fingers that I knew he possessed; he started braiding my hair down my back.  
Once he had done that he started to create a complicated knot with the braid, so in the end my hair was knotted in a graceful knot at the back of my throat.  
“A smile wouldn’t hurt the image, you know.” He teased softly and I smiled, just for him.  
He cleared his throat then, and I saw him, in the mirror, from where he stood behind me, reaching into his trousers pocket nervously.  
“I got this for you,” he started, sounding so shy and childlike that I felt my smile grow as he gently wrapped his arms around my waist, one hand closed into a fist while his other hand took a hold of my right hand as he pressed his closed fist against it, dropping something cool and light into my palm.  
I looked down with interest and couldn’t help but gasp, for in my palm lay the most beautiful necklace that I had ever seen.  
It was a tiny silver seashell hanging from a thin silver chain. So beautifully crafted it was that it took my breath away. And the cost of it…  
“Finnick…” I started weakly, looking up into his eyes via the mirror. He was watching me carefully and seemed pleased with my reaction to his gift.  
“You like?” he asked with a wide grin.  
“Of course.” I gasped, “But-but Finnick, I…”  
“Shush.” He said, moving one hand to gently place over my mouth – I kissed his palm. “Don’t worry about any of that.”  
I roll my eyes at him in distress. How could I not? How could I not worry about this, when I know that this simple gift could be reported back to the Capital, back to President Snow and…  
“It’s fine, Annie.” He soothed. “I’ll be fine. It’s just a gift” it was more than that, of course. “It’s not like it’s a ring or anything.” He adds almost airily but I catch a hint in his voice, a hint that makes my breath catch in my throat.  
I eye him closely in the mirror, but his face is neutral betraying no emotions that that tiny hint in his voice had. A hint of anger, remorse, longing.  
I felt my stomach churn as he took the necklace from my palm, unclasping it and gently reclasping it around my slender throat. The chain was long enough, so that if I needed to, I could hide the pendent beneath my clothes and no one would be the wiser about it.  
Except for today, today my neckline was too low for me to tuck the tiny, precious seashell out of sight, so it would be on display for all who bothered to look to see. Family heirloom, old trinket, a gift; excuse after excuse formed in my head for me to say to anyone who asked me about it. After all, as Finnick said, it wasn’t like it was a ring or anything.  
“Smile, Annie.” He says to me, begs me almost. So I smile for him and push all my worry and fears to the back of my mind and he holds me so that neither of us will fall.

I wish that Finnick still walked with me to get signed in. He used to when I was younger, when he first moved in with Grandma and me. But as I got older, more people around the district found it strange for him to be walking with me to be signed in. So as of last year, we stopped and I silently filed in with all the other children of District Four by myself.  
I fingered my seashell pendent that hung around my throat, ignoring the curious looks I received from other children around me.  
I winced when they took my blood, but after five years of having it done, I was used to it. I remembered the panic attack that I had had the first time I had to get my blood taken while signing in, when I was twelve.  
I was so scared that my grandmother – since both my parents were already dead by the time of my first reaping - had to be called over from when she had been previously standing on the stage out front of the Justice Building, to hold my hand while they took my blood. And then she, like the parents or guardians of every other twelve year old around me, walked me to the roped off area, right at the back of all the rest of the roped off areas, where all the twelve year olds stood.  
She stayed with me for as long as she possibly could before returning to her place on stage. This was the year that Finnick won and came to live with Grandma and me.  
It was him, the next year, my second reaping, that walked with me to be sign in, held my hand when they took my blood, before taking me to where the thirteen year olds stood.  
It became a tradition until I turn sixteen and we decided it would probably be for the best if we stopped. I didn’t want to, I felt comfortable and reassured when he was with me, the lose of it now leaves me feeling frighten and yarning for his comfort once more.  
I silently file my way into the rope off section where the seventeen year olds girls stood; trying to ignore the boisterous girls, all chattering away about what it would be like to have the honour of being a tribute, to win the games, to have Finnick Odair all to themselves.  
I tuned out after that. It is these girls – and boys too. I can see them from where I stand – who give our District the name of Careers that join us with District One and Two.  
Most of us do not look for death, nor do we enjoy watching it and yet from these few adolescents around me we look to be as bloodthirsty as Two.  
I cringe away from the bloodthirsty, energetic girls and moved off to the edge of the roped area, to where the quieter girls were huddled.  
They all eyed me cautiously, like they always do. They seem to think that since I am the granddaughter of one Victor and the best friend of another that I am the same as those girls back there. They never give me a chance for me to prove that I’m not, that I’m just like them, that I like my life here in District Four, that all the action I want to see in my life is when I’m in a swimming meet, simply competing for a metal, not for my life.  
I try to keep my irritation off my face at their closed mindedness and instead turn my attention to the stage, trying not to smile as I do so.  
Finnick is looking like some kind of sea god, lounging in the foldout chair like it’s some kind of throne, his face looking across the crowd as we are all below him, that we aren’t worth his notice, his gaze fixed firmly on the ocean in the distance.  
It’s an act, all of it. Inside him, I know, he’s a mess, that the reason he is looking over our heads is not because he thinks we are beneath him, but rather he can’t bear to look at us, knowing, as he does, that two of our number is about to leave and possibly never return ever again. Well, except in a wooden box from the Capital.  
I try to smile at him, but I know that he won’t look my way, not until the reaping is over and he has to leave, then he’ll come and find me and say goodbye for the weeks that he’ll be away in the Capital, doing gods only knows what. And, in truth, I don’t really want to know.  
“It is both a time for repentance and a time for thanks.” I look back up the stage again, where our Mayor is now standing in front of a microphone, looking out over the vast sea of District Four kids. I know that his twelve year old daughter has joined our ranks.  
He reads out the lists of all our Victors, which are quite a few and only one has died of old age so far, making my grandmother now the oldest Victor of our district. Finnick is our youngest - being just fourteen years old when he won he’s games - even though two years after he won, we had another Victor crowned; Trout Greenglass, but he was eighteen years old at the time of his victory while Finnick was still only sixteen.  
As he reads out the list of our Victors and which year they had won, I looked around the square, looking at all the people from the Capital who were in charge of the cameras that were broadcasting this all over Panem, at the people who took our blood and sign us in.  
All these people were from Capital; all taking some part in the slaughter of mostly innocent children and had no problem with it. It was a game to them, their favourite show of the year.  
I swallowed thickly and went back to playing with my necklace.  
The mayor finished reading the list of our Victors he went about introducing our District’s escort, Stansen Flickershade who trotted out on to the centre of the stage the moment his name was called, grinning widely around at us as he called out, “Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favour!”  
It’s hard to feel much sense of doom and gloom when Stansen Flickershade is around. He is just about the most ridiculous looking person I have ever seen in my life.  
His hair was a brilliant blue colour. Or maybe it was a wig, considering how spiky it is. I wonder if he’s ever spiked himself when he’s touched his hair and drawn blood. His skin has been dyed the colour of lime green and he has different coloured blue swirls tattooed all over his body. But surprising his suit is quiet nice, subtle even. A simple blue, well tailor suit, nothing outstandingly freakish about it, just a normal suit, it is he. He who is the outlandish, freakish thing and yet he seems to have no idea that the whole district is trying not to laugh at him, hiding their laughter by faking coughs or behind their hands.  
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Finnick shaking his head at the sight of Stansen. He caught my eye and winked at me as Stansen rambles on and on about what an honour it is to be here, representing us to the rest of Panem and so on.  
Just get on with it, I beg silently and I know I’m not the only one. Some of us want him to hurry up, to let us know that we are safe for another year, while others are dying to know whether they are going to go into the arena, to bring glory back to our district.  
I fought the desire to pull a face at that.  
They have no idea what they’re wishing for, no idea what those games are really like. Neither do I, really, but I live with two people who have been in those terrible games. I know exactly how a Victor fairs, and it is, most of the time, not very well.  
I wouldn’t wish the fate of being a tribute on to anyone, even less for them to then become a Victor. Yes, you live pass the Arena, but you have to survive with that fact for the rest of your life.  
“Well then, ladies first.” I’m drawn once more out of my thoughts by Stansen as he bounces over to the glass ball that contains all the names of the girls - within the ages twelve to eighteen - of our district.  
He reaches in, swirls his hand within a few hundred times, building suspense I guess he thinks, though really, he’s just making everyone want to throw something at him to get him to hurry up already, before he buries his hand deep within the ball, right to the bottom, with a determined expression on his face – why did it look like he was searching for something in particular? Or someone? – before he finally plucked a piece of paper from the top of the pile, almost as if he’s spot the slip of paper that he is searching for.  
I can hear the crowd around me taking in a collective breath, waiting, waiting to hear who was going to leave us and probably not return, waiting to hear that we have been saved, saved for another year.  
Open it already! I beg and I know I’m not the only girl who’s thinking just that.  
Smiling widely, he unfolded the piece of paper and read out…  
“Annie Cresta.”


End file.
